


Coverall or Nothing

by HanilarLion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Good thing John has some sense, Home Improvement, M/M, Oral Sex, Sherlock does something stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanilarLion/pseuds/HanilarLion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes a minor miscalculation in one of his experiments and John notices that his partner has misunderstood the function of the garment called a coverall. Sexy times ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coverall or Nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Surprise Renovation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188371) by [HanilarLion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanilarLion/pseuds/HanilarLion). 



> This kind of follows my own story "Surprise Renovation" because the incomparable AtlinMerrick had the brilliant idea that Sherlock was not wearing anything under his coverall. It's not necessary to read that story to understand this one or vice versa.

When John arrived home to find Sherlock, wrench in hand and dressed in a coverall, in the process of installing a bidet in their bathroom, his first question was, of course, “What case could possibly require the installation of a bidet in our bathroom?” 

Sherlock launched into the explanation, which involved high water pressure and contaminated water supply. John winced and held up a hand to stop the flow of information; he could easily imagine what too-high water pressure in a bidet could do to the human body and did not want to think about it any further. 

“Just…try not to make too much of a mess,” John sighed. “And be sure to lay down plenty of towels. I’m not sure how old the caulking is and we don’t want Mrs. Hudson’s ceiling to start leaking.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock huffed in the tone that meant he hadn’t even considered the possible effects of flooding the bathroom. John rolled his eyes at his partner and wandered through to the kitchen to put away the recently-bought groceries. 

Twenty minutes later, he was in his chair with a cup of tea and the evening paper when he heard what sounded like water gushing, followed by a loud yelp of surprise and the immediate cessation of the water. 

“Sherlock?” he called, already hauling himself out of the chair and heading for the bathroom. “You all right?” 

“Fine!” Sherlock shouted back far too quickly. John looked in on him anyway and found that the man was sopping wet, as was the floor around him. 

“What did I tell you about the towels?” John reprimanded him, opening the linen closet and snagging a stack of them. He threw a couple to Sherlock, who made a sound of discomfort when they impacted on his chest. His eyes narrowed; a couple of towels should not have hurt very much. In a moment of lightning-fast deduction that the detective would have only pretended to deride, John realized what had happened. 

“You had the water pressure on too high and it got you in the chest, didn’t it?” He didn’t bother to wait for Sherlock’s reply before striding in and reaching for the zip of the coverall, towels discarded and forgotten on the wet floor. “Let me see.” Sherlock offered no resistance as the doctor slid the zip down and parted the material of the coverall to assess the wound on his right pectoral. An area about the size of his palm was an angry red, standing out lividly against the rest of the expanse of pale, damp flesh. 

“Deep breath,” John ordered, and Sherlock, surprisingly, complied. John probed gently at the area around the mark and ordered several more breaths. When he was satisfied that there was no permanent damage, he pressed a soft kiss over the mark and dropped his hands. 

“It’ll be black and blue in a few hours and it’ll hurt for at least a week, but there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage or involvement of the lung. I’ll get you some ice to put on it to help with the pain.” John turned and was about to step away when something occurred to him and he spun around again. 

“Hang on. You’re not wearing a shirt.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“Obviously,” he drawled. “Excellent powers of observation, John.”

“Are you wearing anything under that coverall?” John inquired, raising an eyebrow. 

“Why would I? It’s a coverall, John. No other garments are necessary,” Sherlock retorted. “See?” He pulled the zip down the rest of the way and shrugged out of the upper part. It fell away to reveal that his entire body was gloriously bare. 

“I don’t think that’s really how they work,” John breathed absently, unable to take his eyes off the planes and angles of his partner’s beautiful ivory flesh. Sherlock shrugged, and his muscles worked sinuously under his flawless skin. Unable to help himself, John reached out and laid his palm flat against the sculpted expanse of Sherlock’s unmarked pectoral. 

The muscle immediately jumped under his hand as Sherlock gasped at the touch. John flinched, worried that he’d caused the other man pain, but Sherlock’s long fingers immediately came up to hold John’s shorter ones in place. 

“I won’t break, John,” Sherlock murmured. “It’s just a bruise, you said so yourself.” His eyes took on a definitely mischievous twinkle. “Now, you were saying something about the necessity of wearing something under a coverall?”

“I’m beginning come around to your point of view,” John breathed, dragging his fingertips ever so lightly over Sherlock’s porcelain skin. 

“I certainly intend for you to come,” Sherlock purred, and John groaned at the pun even as he pulled Sherlock’s face down to his and pressed their lips together. With a muffled noise of approval, Sherlock responded enthusiastically. He tried to take a step backwards and draw John with him, but stumbled over the tangle of his coverall where it had caught on his boots. John steadied him but broke the kiss. 

“Off,” he whispered. Sherlock hurried to comply, toeing off his boots and kicking the ankle cuffs off his feet. When he was free from the garment, he tried again to pull John towards the bedroom, and this time, he was successful. They fell onto the unmade bed together in a laughing tangle of limbs. 

“You too,” Sherlock insisted, pawing at John’s jumper. “I want you naked.” John hastily complied, the two of them stripping off his clothes in record time. Once he’d flung his pants off his ankle and free of the bed, John pinned Sherlock against the dark sheets. 

“You need to take it easy,” he said as seriously as he could, his eyes dancing with mischief. “You’re going to start to really feel that bruise soon. Now just lie back and let me do all the work, hmm? Doctor’s orders.” Before Sherlock could draw breath to reply, John had shimmied down the bed and engulfed his cock in the wet heat of his mouth. Sherlock groaned. 

“Who am I…to go against my doctor’s orders?” he gasped. John grinned up at him around his mouthful of flesh and did something particularly wicked with his tongue that made Sherlock moan. The moan changed to a noise of protest, though, as John pulled away with a slurping noise and moved back up Sherlock’s body. 

“You do it all the time, you prat,” he pointed out, and Sherlock was hard pressed to remember the thread of the conversation. He gave up the attempt when John’s mouth brushed ever so lightly over his damaged pectoral. “You ignore your doctor’s advice and keep on doing whatever fool thing you get into your head,” John continued between kisses to his partner’s skin. One of his hands came up to brush random patterns over Sherlock’s shoulder and arm as he kissed his way back to Sherlock’s mouth. They kissed for several long moments, and Sherlock could barely breathe. 

John finally broke the kiss and pulled back a little bit; he dropped his mouth to Sherlock’s jaw and tasted the sweat and stubble there. Sherlock whimpered when John nipped gently at his neck, then kissed his way back down to the unmarked side of his chest. 

“When will you learn that you have to take care of this beautiful body?” John murmured, his lips brushing Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock’s hand came up to caress the back of John’s head. 

“I’ll do better, I promise,” he babbled. “I will. John, please.” He pushed weakly against John’s head. The other man chuckled against his belly, the vibrations causing Sherlock’s hips to jerk up involuntarily. 

“No you won’t,” John whispered. “But that doesn’t mean I love you any less.” He placed a kiss to the tip of Sherlock’s cock before swallowing it back down, and it was only a matter of moments before Sherlock was crying out his release. John swallowed everything down and continued sucking gently until Sherlock was clean. He pulled himself up his partner’s long body and fit himself to his unbruised side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and slinging a leg over his thighs. 

“John—” Sherlock managed, and the man so named could hear everything Sherlock wanted to say packed into that one short syllable. 

“I know, love,” he rumbled, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck as he began to rut against Sherlock’s hip. One of Sherlock’s long arms snaked between John’s waist and the mattress to cup his arse possessively. In less than a dozen thrusts, John was biting down on Sherlock’s neck as warm semen burst between their bodies. 

They both lay there for a few minutes, getting their breath back. Sherlock pulled John closer to him and used one foot to snag the duvet. Together, they got themselves more or less under the covers and curled even more tightly against each other as they dropped off to sleep. 

 

Hours later, when Mrs. Hudson came up to inquire as to the cause of the leak in her bathroom ceiling, she found the two of them still asleep under Sherlock’s duvet. She closed the door quietly behind her and, noting the abandoned towels in the bathroom, proceeded to sop up the excess water on the floor. Just this once, mind, and only because she couldn’t bear to wake them from their peaceful slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a great rest of your day!


End file.
